Chivalry
by trufflemores
Summary: Anonymous prompted: "SKANK!KURT AND NORMAL BLAINE, KURT IS THE MOST AFFECTIONATE CUDDLY BOYFRIEND EVER BUT TOTALLY DENIES IT AND BLAINE THINKS IT'S ADORABLE." Klaine. WIP.
1. Chivalry

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"I really hope that's a metaphor."

Kurt paused, the lighter halfway to his lips as he turned on his heel slowly, gravel grinding tightly underfoot. "You're an even bigger dork than I thought you were," he admitted, stepping partially out of the shadows under the bleachers as Blaine approached, hips swaying a little. He was wearing a pair of black pants and a gray Cheerios hoodie, a smile curling the corners of his lips even as he glanced pointedly at the cigarette. Snapping the lighter on, Kurt lit the cigarette and drew in a long breath, exhaling and explaining dryly, "This _killing thing _is nowhere near as dangerous as the amount of gel that you put in your hair."

Blaine scrunched up his nose, a clipped laugh escaping him. "Ouch."

"It's just the truth, ba- Blaine."

A grin lit up Blaine's face even as Kurt groaned and held up a preemptively abortive hand, ordering, "Don't."

"Why not, babe?" Blaine crooned, looking delighted as he crowded into Kurt's corner, almost heedless of the lit cigarette as he tugged Kurt closer by his belt loops. "What's so wrong with _baby?_"

"I have a reputation to maintain," Kurt maintained stiffly, tucking his free hand into his leather pant pocket. "Your bow ties are already threatening to undo it completely."

"Mm," Blaine allowed in a hum, leaning just close enough that his lips grazed Kurt's ear as he whispered, "You should put that out."

Kurt resisted the shiver that tried to course down his spine. Blaine already knew how sensitive his neck was, and having his lips so close to it – but not quite touching – was almost more than he could bear in such close proximity. Still, he dared to hold the cigarette away and say, "These aren't cheap, you know."

"Neither are you," Blaine retorted smoothly. "And you know that I hate smoker's breath." Fiddling absentmindedly with the zip on Kurt's jacket, Blaine let it drag down a few centimeters – and no more – before adding, "It would be a shame, not being able to make out with you tonight. I had so many plans."

"What kind of plans?" Kurt asked, swayed in spite of himself as Blaine ticked the zipper down another set of teeth, agonizingly slow.

Blaine let the zipper come all the way down, Kurt's breath hitching in his chest as his fingers grazed the soft skin just above Kurt's belt. "I think you know what I mean."

Groaning at himself for giving in so easily, Kurt dropped the still lit cigarette and ground it underneath his steely-gray boot, not giving Blaine time to think before he seized the back of his neck and kissed him. "What was that you were saying about smoker's breath?" Kurt asked, unable to help himself as Blaine chased after his lips, kissing along his jawline.

"You're incorrigible," Blaine replied in a murmur, pulling him into another kiss.

Kurt couldn't help but laugh when they broke apart, adding, "_I'm _incorrigible," before squeaking out a "_Blaine_" when he latched onto Kurt's neck.

"I love you," Blaine said, kissing a path down his neck, gliding over smooth skin and a curling tattoo of a blackbird just above his collarbone. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Kurt curled his hand around the back of Blaine's shoulder, encouraging him to continue as he laved Kurt's skin with attention, not entirely sure how to respond. Blaine and he hadn't gotten off to the best start, but they'd come a long way from the days when it was hard to even make eye contact with each other. Kurt hadn't been the most pleasant of company back then, but Blaine had been persistent, insisting on taking no offense to Kurt's prickliness. Eventually their compatibility had won out, and working on class projects together involuntarily – and for the most part, entirely coincidentally – had eventually morphed into a more open friendship. "Just friends" hadn't lasted long, quickly turning less platonic once they realized how much better the alternative could be.

The McKinley High gossip mill had been positively rampant with excitement about the development, but Kurt was still finding his footing with the whole public declarations of love aspect of their relationship. It was easy to whisper love into Blaine's skin or gravitate closer to him in the dark when neither of them could make out each other's features. It was easy to be open with his affection when every gesture wasn't analyzed but simply accepted. It was more difficult to retain that same honesty when they were out in the open, and no matter how nonchalant Kurt tried to be, it was hard to reciprocate Blaine's affection in public.

At least, it was hard to do so verbally, Kurt amended, turning to kiss Blaine's cheek and capturing him in another kiss in lieu of responding. He liked the physicality behind their relationship, liked the long, lean lines of Blaine's shoulders and back, his muscular arms, his soft belly, but he knew that admitting how pleasant he found it all was dangerous territory, crossing an unspoken line between lust and love. He needed to keep Blaine at a certain distance if he wanted to remain respected in the McKinley circles, but he couldn't help the closeness that he felt every time Blaine smiled at him or quickened his step to catch up with him before class or even brought him a non-fat mocha after school.

Not to mention he loved that he could drape an arm around Blaine's waist or drop a kiss to his ungelled curls or just spoon up behind him. He would never admit it to Blaine, of course – there were plenty of valid excuses for curling up against one's extremely cuddly boyfriend, after all: cold toes, limited space, and accidental positioning among others – but he wasn't nearly as standoffish as he came across to the general McKinley public.

Which, really, was the root of his problem.

"We should stop," he said, tilting his head back slightly to let Blaine have more unimpeded access to his neck, rendering the point moot.

Still, Blaine didn't ignore it, pulling back after a moment and asking, "We should?"

Kurt sighed, trailing his fingers down Blaine's left arm and lacing their fingers together when he reached his hand, giving it a light squeeze. Strange to think how Blaine, who laughed nervously at the thought of getting a tattoo or dying his hair different colors (he'd look so pretty in bright blue, Kurt thought, already picturing what it would look like to dab a streak through his curls), also had the same meticulous concern for his hands as Kurt did. Like minds.

"We should," he repeated, more firmly a second time around. "If Figgins catches us –"

"Figgins won't catch us," Blaine said at once.

Kurt's lips twitched in a smile as he pressed a quick kiss to Blaine's cheek. "Have I made a rebel of you already, Anderson?"

Blaine smiled bashfully, not denying the statement as he added, "Technically there aren't any rules about skipping classes when it's just a study period."

Kurt rolled his eyes, about to remind him how there definitely _were _rules about skipping study periods to make out with your boyfriend under the bleachers when he heard Santana say from a distance, "It's Hummel, trust me."

"Is it really right to rat him out?" Quinn asked. Their footsteps were already getting closer, and Kurt could see their shadows approaching from the football field as his heart skipped a beat and Blaine froze, listening in.

"You have so much to learn," Santana said in that familiarly conspiring way of hers, and that was the last that Kurt heard before he dragged Blaine along by his sleeve, ignoring his hushed, "_Kurt_," as they ran at a crouch down the length of the bleachers.

When at last they'd found a more secluded corner deeper under the stairs, Kurt let out a relieved sigh and sank to the gravel, shoulder all but pressed to the metal railing behind him as he held out his arms invitingly for Blaine to join him.

Blaine moved to accept the offer, hesitated, and, with his eyes fixed on a point just over Kurt's left shoulder, blurted out, "Don't panic."

Kurt had a brief, paralyzing moment to wonder what particular nightmare was about to unfold when he shifted his left shoulder a fraction to the left to try and see what menace was lurking there when a tiny swarm of bees rushed from their disturbed hive in a panic.

Kurt scrambled to his knees so quickly that he almost knocked his head on the steely risers above him, a whimper slipping past his lips as he said, "Oh my God oh my God oh my God get them _away._"

"Honey," Blaine said, and then, louder, "honey, Kurt, it's okay, they're just bees, don't swat them – "

Entirely unable to help himself, Kurt flailed at the bees as more buzzed out of the hive until Blaine held up his hoodie and Kurt dove under it, promptly enveloped in the stretched fabric.

"See, now you're safe," Blaine announced.

Kurt couldn't see anything and he could still hear the bees buzzing faintly, but the thick fabric seemed to muffle the hysteria that had been building in his thoughts. Curling his hands into Blaine's shirt, he felt Blaine's own arms wrap arm him outside the hoodie, sitting back on the gravel as the bees continued to buzz around him. "Sting all you want, bees," he added jauntily, "I don't mind."

"Don't encourage them," Kurt growled.

Blaine lifted a hand to cradle the back of Kurt's head apologetically over the hoodie, listening to the bees buzz around him and yelping once as a bee made good on his word. Unable to keep his snicker entirely silent, Kurt shook with quiet laughter from underneath his hoodie as Blaine grumbled and quipped, "Still immune. Bees won't win this round."

It took the better part of ten minutes for the bees to finally dissipate, Blaine rubbing Kurt's back as he did so. Kurt didn't let go when Blaine first said, "They're gone."

"Babe?" Blaine tried a second time.

At last, tugging on his hoodie until a frizzy-haired Kurt emerged, Blaine asked worriedly, "Are you okay? Did you get stung?"

Looking up at his worried boyfriend – sporting a new bright red mark on his left cheek – Kurt let his forehead rest against his shoulder and vowed, "No more bees."

"No more bees," Blaine agreed, curling his arms around him again and wincing as his cheek touched Kurt's. "Ow."

"I thought you were immune?" Kurt teased, unable to help himself as he wrapped his own arms around Blaine's waist.

"Immune to the venom – not the sting," Blaine corrected, prodding his own cheek gingerly.

Sitting back on his heels to look at him – wary of the hive not a foot away from his shoulder – Kurt couldn't help the small smile that twitched his lips as he added, "You're such a dork."

Blaine pouted, looking ready to answer that in kind – Kurt knew his hair had to look abominable, pink streak and all – but Kurt leaned forward to kiss him once before he could. "I love you."

Looking pleasantly surprised, Blaine smiled and echoed, "I love you, too." He scooted back on the gravel to stand, holding out a hand to help Kurt up.

Kurt gratefully accepted it, deciding that maybe he didn't need to curb his affection for Blaine after all. As long as the rest of McKinley knew that he wouldn't put up with their cruelty even if he had gone "soft" and fallen for someone, then everything would work out in the end.

Besides, it never hurt to have a chivalrous boyfriend on hand to take protect him from harm.


	2. Quick Fixes

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"Is it less harmful if you smoke in a tree?"

Kurt groaned, swinging a leg over the branch so that he could turn his back on Blaine standing on the ground below, placing the cigarette between his teeth again. "Go away."

"There are healthier ways of coping with problems," Blaine called up, hands on his hips and that irrepressible smile on his lips as he looked up at him.

Cursing under his breath, Kurt chucked a loose branch over the side and smirked at the startled yelp below as it bounced off Blaine's head. "Who said I was coping with anything?"

"First off –" Blaine hopped up, seizing the lowest branch and tugging himself upward carefully, "you skipped Glee club practice."

"I skipped Glee club practice because no one in that room actually cares if I'm there and I can only listen to Berry belt solos so many days in one week."

"I care," Blaine said, sounding so _earnest _that Kurt didn't dare look at him or he would be swayed by the puppy eyes. Blaine's puppy eyes were potent.

There was an ominous creaking below as Blaine snatched another branch and started pulling himself up, feet struggling for purchase against the tree bark. "For a hobbit, you're not a very good climber," Kurt remarked, blowing out another puff of smoke before holding the cigarette away from his mouth so he could watch Blaine scale the tree below him.

"I'm not actually sure they're very good climbers to begin with," Blaine admitted, hauling himself onto the branch just underneath Kurt's and smiling up at him. "Hi."

Rolling his eyes, Kurt leaned back against the trunk and ignored him. It wasn't just Glee club that had him down – it was the whole school, really; McKinley was suffocating – but he wasn't about to spill his soul in front of Blaine just because he was _there._ Regardless of what Blaine said, a cigarette would make him feel better. Talking about his feelings wouldn't.

"This is pretty high up," Blaine said, almost startling Kurt off his perch as he climbed onto the branch adjacent to his. "Nice view, though. I bet it's even more impressive at the top."

Kurt snorted at the thought, unable to help himself. "Why are you doing this?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"Blaine –"

Ignoring him, Blaine maneuvered onto the next highest branch, beaming down at Kurt. "You should come up here. It'll help clear your head."

"And if you fall, it'll crack it," Kurt reminded dryly, riveted in spite of himself as Blaine leaned up to grab another branch.

"You have so little faith in me," Blaine teased, scaling the tree more easily now.

Kurt watched until Blaine paused and sat down three branches up, letting out a gusty, appreciative breath as he looked around. "It's really nice up here."

"Mm." Kurt took another drag on his cigarette, leaning back on his branch a little and soaking in the late autumn sun. "At least one of us is happy."

"You should come up here."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Why, so we can both be stuck in a tree?"

"I'm not stuck," Blaine retorted, indignant.

"Uh huh." Kurt listened to Blaine shift around overhead, looking up when he heard a branch crackle. "Careful," he cautioned.

"I'm not stuck," Blaine said again. Kurt tilted his head back to look up at him. He had one leg angled forward to try and reach the branch just below him, evidently struggling to do so as it shifted just so underneath him.

Tossing his spent cigarette aside, Kurt fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the camera, tilting it up as he asked, "So tell me again how not stuck you are."

Blaine groaned and continued to toe downward in the vain hope of reaching the branch underneath him. "I thought you were sulking and not speaking to me?"

"I can make an exception," Kurt said with a wry smile. "And I wasn't _sulking._"

"You were definitely sulking."

Kurt was about to remind him who was currently stuck in a _tree _when Blaine almost slipped, clinging to his branch as he admitted, "Okay, so I'm a little stuck."

"You're either stuck or you're not stuck, B."

Blaine sighed and let his head thunk back against the trunk, refusing to look down at Kurt for a long moment. He pouted as soon as he saw the camera, pleading, "Please don't film this."

"I need proof."

Blaine's pout deepened. "Proof for what?"

Kurt shrugged. "The Internet? Don't think I've forgotten the treadmill video."

"I took it down!"

"_After _it got 200 hits."

"…Please don't put this online."

Kurt smiled and assured him, "I won't leave it up for long. Just long enough for it to get a few hundred hits." Waving a hand, he indicated for Blaine to climb down, adding, "I'm not going to film you sitting in a tree indefinitely. Move."

Blaine shimmied down the branch carefully, seeking leverage at a different spot as Kurt tilted his phone to record him. He yelped as he almost lost his grip on the branch altogether, a tiny snort of amusement working its way past Kurt's lips as he called up, "Don't fall."

"Trying not to!"

Kurt couldn't help but smile as Blaine finally managed to slide down the branch, clinging to the next highest one and letting out a triumphant _Ha._

"Inspiring," Kurt acknowledged.

Blaine huffed. "Don't laugh."

"I'm not laughing." Kurt couldn't help but smile as he said it, watching Blaine struggle to find purchase on the lower branch underneath him. "Don't fall."

"I'm _not _going to fall," Blaine said, squeaking as he almost slipped off his branch, missing the one underneath him by inches.

"If you do fall, then I can send this in to America's Funniest Home Videos."

"I'm glad –" Blaine grunted as he climbed down to the lower branch, clinging to the trunk the whole way, "that one of us is making the most of this experience."

Kurt turned off his camera and sat back to enjoy the show as Blaine struggled to reach the next branch. "Need a hand, honey?" he asked lightly.

Blaine grunted in response, holding onto the trunk with both arms. "I can do it." He winced as he shuffled down the tree, sitting back on the branch above Kurt and sighing in relief.

Taking pity on him, Kurt climbed up carefully until he was sitting on the branch beside him, resting his cheek on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine curled an arm around his waist, his free hand steadying them on the branch.

Tilting his head to press a kiss to his cheek, Kurt murmured, "Thank you."

Blaine tipped his own head towards Kurt inquisitively. "For what?"

_Being you._ Kurt didn't respond, kissing his cheek again before patting his hip. "Come on. Not finished yet." Sliding nimbly out of his grasp, he clambered down the branches with ease, dropping to the ground and looking up at Blaine. "You can do it," he encouraged, pulling out his phone again and pressing record. "Don't fall."

To his credit, Blaine didn't fall – until the last branch, where he hopped down and slipped and landed flat on his back in the grass below, winded. "You okay, babe?" Kurt asked, approaching with his camera up as Blaine covered his face with his arm and groaned.

"You're the worst," he grumbled.

Secretly relieved that he was fine, Kurt flicked his camera off and held out a hand to help him up, dusting him off once he was steady. "You love me."

Blaine grunted but didn't deny it, lips twitching with a smile when Kurt kissed his cheek.

It was nice to know that even on his bad days Blaine could cheer him up, however involuntarily.


	3. First Impressions

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

**A/N: **

Warnings for: homophobic slurs. Only one, but as always, overcautious rather than under. Also, this one's a touch angsty; the other two are much more lighthearted. But the next installment will be lighter, rest assured.

It was raining and Kurt needed a cigarette.

With fumbling fingers, he tore his satchel off his shoulder and flicked through the pockets with familiar quickness, careless with need. It didn't matter that he was barely concealed behind the bleachers as the rain continued to patter across the parking lot. Nor did it concern him that he'd tossed out his last pack that morning, smoking his last just before the first bell rang, but even so he couldn't force his shaky hands down and concede defeat. He needed a cigarette. He _needed _a cigarette.

With an audible sigh of relief, he pulled a stray out from underneath a notebook. The air was heavy with rain and he felt numb and strangely sick to his stomach as he pulled out a lighter and worked against the damp air to get it lit.

"That's a fire hazard," a familiar voice quipped.

Kurt almost dropped his cigarette as he whirled around, hissing in dismay as the lighter failed to catch once more. Determinedly ignoring his new company, Kurt turned his back on Blaine Anderson and focused on his task as well as he could with clammy palms. At last, the spark caught just so and he drew in a deep breath, expelling smoke as footsteps crunched hesitantly closer on the gravel behind him.

"Go ahead and report me," he taunted, eerily calm in the midst of the inner turmoil roiling through him. "Figgins won't do anything." He blew out another long cloud of smoke as though to prove his point, grateful that the advancing footsteps finally halted at that.

There was a long silence between them, broken only by the steady susurration of the rain, until at last Blaine spoke, soft and deliberate.

"You're not a fag."

Kurt almost crushed the cigarette between his fingertips as he held it away from his lips, breathing slowly to keep the vertigo at bay. He knew that Blaine would have seen the letters sprayed in raw, red paint over his locker. Everyone had. Jacob Ben Israel was well on his way to publishing a nice, juicy story about how not straight McKinley's most notorious skank was. His world was crashing down around him and all Blaine had to say was the least truthful of all the accusations. _I am what I am._

"Seems like you're behind on the times," Kurt said, voice a thinly veiled matrix of pain, twisting anger and cynicism rising to the surface as he continued. "I thought everyone in this hellhole knew the truth."

Blaine didn't respond at once, shuffling idly on his feet as they stood apart in the rain, shielded by the bleachers overhead as Kurt smoked. For a moment, Kurt was convinced that Blaine had left, the quiet stretching between them for so long that he wondered if it all hadn't been some twisted illusion.

At last, just above the noise of the rain, Blaine stepped forward and spoke.

"You are an _amazing _person, and if they can't see that then – screw them." He took another step forward, almost crowding into Kurt's space but lingering on the edge, giving him a way out. Kurt met him halfway, turning around to face him and squaring his shoulders, cigarette dangling between his fingers as he sized Blaine up. Their appearances were almost comically dissimilar – Kurt clad from head to toe in a metallic series of grays and whites, all sharp edges and shockingly bright pink hair to top it off while Blaine sported too much hair gel and an outdated Brooks Brothers outfit – but their eyes never wavered from each other, the intensity almost electric between them.

"Screw them," Blaine repeated empathetically, staring at him with blazing eyes, not letting Kurt sink back into the spiraling chaos of his own thoughts.

"Why do you care?" Kurt demanded, setting the cigarette between his teeth again. His heart was racing and he didn't know why, his entire sense of calm detachedness unseated by Blaine's presence. Blaine was there, Blaine _cared, _and even if Kurt didn't know why, he knew that much. He took a long drag on the cigarette to clear his head, hoping for something like the peace of mind that it usually brought him, perilously close to _something_: anger or sorrow or fear, he didn't know.

"Because no one – not you or my best friend or even my worst enemy – deserves to be called anything less than their name. No one deserves to be bullied."

Kurt's hands were shaking again, but it was only when he went to pull the cigarette away from his lips that he realized they were. His racing heart seemed to come to a standstill, his entire world zeroing in on that statement: _no one deserves to be bullied._

Had he the power or eloquence to speak then, he might have told Blaine to leave. As it was, he was absolutely silent, tucking the cigarette back into place without a word and willing his armor to hold, already feeling dangerously exposed. Turning his back on Blaine and walking a few paces down, gravel crunching underfoot, Kurt reclaimed some of his former calm as he halted again, breathing out more smoke.

"It's hard to stand alone," Blaine said quietly. "It really is. But you shouldn't have to feel ashamed. And if anyone does make you feel that way then – screw them, Kurt." Impassioned, Blaine insisted, "You're so much better than them, and no three-letter word can change that."

Blowing out a long, thin cloud of smoke, Kurt tucked his cigarette between his fingertips and turned on his heel to look at Blaine. "We're not friends," he said, and the words were sharp but Blaine's expression didn't flinch even as Kurt added, "I don't need your help."

Without a word, Blaine nodded, looking for a moment at a loss before he backed off with a simple, "Don't ruin your lungs. You have an incredible voice."

And then he was gone and Kurt was alone in the rain, alone and cold and hollowed out.

He hated that there were people that still had the power to make him cower. He also hated that even hearing his name shouted across a hallway could make him flinch. But mostly he hated that in spite of everything, he couldn't ignore them.

After a while, however, "them" became a more distant thing, and Kurt realized that even if they wrote obscenities across his locker till graduation day, it wouldn't change a damn thing about his goals. At least they didn't insult him to his face anymore – that had ceased as soon as Coach Sylvester took a strange liking to him and allowed him to fill in for her Cheerios whenever her supports broke their backs or another incident occurred – but they were still bold enough to attack him when he wasn't looking.

Even so, he didn't need to stand for it, and he wouldn't.

Blaine, for all his fashion-related faults, was right about one thing: he didn't need to listen to them.

_No one deserves to be bullied._

If the red paint was all but gone the next morning and Blaine's posture tired but pleased in Glee club practice, Kurt pretended not to notice, even as Blaine glanced at him periodically to gauge his reaction.

It wasn't until practice ended and almost everyone had cleared out that Kurt caught his sleeve before Blaine could leave and said, very simply, "We're not friends."

Blaine shrugged, expression utterly unreadable as he said, "I know." And then, after a beat, he added, "But I'd like to be."

Baffled and unwilling to admit it, Kurt weighed his options, at last saying, "If you buy me a coffee, I'll consider it."

Without a moment's hesitation, Blaine grinned and replied, "Deal."

True to his word, Blaine bought him a nonfat mocha and submitted cheerfully to Kurt's questions as Kurt plied him with half of a chocolate chip cookie.

By the end of that first not-a-date coffee run, Kurt had Blaine's number in his phone and an irrepressible sense of _rightness _in his gut.

He didn't need Blaine to admit that he'd spent hours tirelessly scrubbing the paint away and painting over it when erasing it proved nearly impossible.

All Kurt had needed was confirmation that what he'd seen – that glimpse in the rain – was real, and he'd gotten it.

He didn't know the how or why yet, but Blaine was there for him and Kurt wasn't about to turn him away, not until he had a chance to see how things could unfold between them.


End file.
